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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29042412">Last Train Home | TommyInnit &amp; Wilbur Soot</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexandraMariaAnna/pseuds/AlexandraMariaAnna'>AlexandraMariaAnna</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Sleepy Boys Inc, Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anyways, Bargaining, Death, Denial, Passing On, all stages of grief, and you know i had to make it sad TM, but still, dream mentioned, holy shit i almost published this just now when it was only half of a chapter help, i am actually really proud of this, i got so sad when i was writing this, koi dialmuci my beloved, other dreamSMP characters mentioned, so like, the idea of the soul train was inspired by koi dialmuci's art, this is an au where tommy dies during the final disc conflict, tommy gets to talk to wilbur for the very final time, when i sent a wip on this to my sister she started crying so you know what is about to go down, which is now deleted sadly, you listen to brilliant by niki once and you just don't stop crying, your galaxy brain</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 05:41:54</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,857</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29042412</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexandraMariaAnna/pseuds/AlexandraMariaAnna</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Goodbye Tommy.<br/>Goodbye Wilby.</p><p>In which Tommy and Wilbur have no regrets.<br/>----<br/>AU - Tommy dies in the Final Disc Conflict</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Wilbur Soot &amp; TommyInnit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>151</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>i like to be sad</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Last Train Home | TommyInnit &amp; Wilbur Soot</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He remembered pain. Terrible, piercing, splitting his lungs apart and tearing his flesh. He screamed, he knew he did, but he didn’t remember what he screamed out; it was words, words directed at someone – who? Friend? Foe? He didn’t know, he didn’t understand, he didn’t recall. All he knew at that point in time, flowing and relentless in its pursuit of Tomorrow, was that his name was Tommy and that he was most likely going to hell, to eternally suffer and pay for his wrongdoings.   </p><p>There had to be hell, right? There had to be hell for people like Schlatt, for people who hurt the world he loved and took joy in it, for those who hurt the defenseless.   </p><p>For him.   </p><p>There was some comfort in knowing where he was going, he had to admit. Though his chest burned, and his throat was filled with blood, he stared dead ahead, at the sky riddled with dark, thick clouds which wept over his quickly cooling body. Minutes turned into seconds, seconds into moments, and Tommy was gone, his eyes dull, a grin ever-present on his face.  </p><p>And then he woke up.  </p><p>A gentle sound of a moving train woke him up from the agony-filled slumber, and he shot up from his seat, grabbing the shirt that rested on top of his chest. Tommy was gasping for air, looking around in sheer panic; he had no idea where he was. One moment he was dying, bleeding out on an obsidian floor, the next?   </p><p>His clothes were untouched, pristine and clean, his iconic white and red shirt as perfect and wrinkle-less as on the day he wore it for the first time. The only thing that was missing was Wilbur’s tattered coat which he wore ever since his older brother passed, and he instantly craved the comfort of the gentle, fading scent of lavender the old piece of clothing carried. Tommy looked around the compartment – maybe it fell somewhere while he was asleep?  </p><p>No luck, he thought. The compartment was empty.   </p><p>It was a luxury thing, the train; the seats were so soft that Tommy’s entire body sank into it like a rock thrown into quicksand when he sat back down, frazzled by the situation. Everything surrounding him was gold, silver, and red, save for the green, lush scenery outside of the window. Trees, bushes, vines blurred together into a symphony of color that Tommy found hard to tear his eyes away from. Still, he swept over the room with a glance; aside from five other empty seats, a small table covered by a red cloth, an empty luggage chute, and a mirror he couldn’t see himself in, there was nothing else in the room. If not for the constant, melodic knocks and thuds of the ever-racing train, he would have been completely alone in unbearable silence, and Tommy found himself anxious, if just for the slightest moment. </p><p>It gave him a moment to think. A gentle green glow from behind the clean window, braided with the light of what he could only assume was the setting sun calmed his mind. For a moment, an image of a city hidden within trees appeared in front of his eyes, and he smiled, recalling every street and every house so vividly that he could almost feel the texture of wood used to build the structures around L’Manburg under his fingertips.   </p><p>Touch, fingertips, warmth, and ice. </p><p>His entire body felt fully corporeal, unlike how he remembered Ghostbur, who always felt like static radiating from an old TV, cold, but sparkling under touch. Tommy remembered the specter telling him about feeling light and his entire being feeling like a sea, always moving, changing – Tommy felt anything but that. It was as if he was still home, sitting in a room, waiting to be yelled at by Wilbur or Phil. As if he was still alive. </p><p>A grin danced on his lips. Maybe he was? <br/>
Maybe he was just knocked out by Dream, and now he was coming to? Tommy clenched and unclenched his fists. It all felt right. He laughed to himself, victorious. He’d rest a bit, and then come back and finally defeat Dream once and for all, get the discs, and get to live the rest of his life in relative peace, with Tubbo, with Niki – maybe even Phil and Techno. He still had to apologize to Techno properly for stealing his things.  </p><p>The train slowed down slightly, and Tommy attempted to stand up. No matter where that train was going, he was getting off at the next station, and he was going home.  <br/>
Before he could do any of that, however, the doors to the compartment slid open, and inside walked a man, wearing a simple navy uniform.  </p><p>Instantly, Tommy sprang to his feet, hands reaching towards his hip where his sword would usually rest, but his hands grasped air, and with a scowl, Tommy put himself in a defensive position, bringing out every memory of martial arts Technoblade taught him when things were good, and there was no bad blood between anyone. The unknown man only shook his head, and with a gentle motion took his hat off, his face now unobscured.  </p><p>Tommy screamed, stumbling back onto his seat, eyes wide in absolute fear that shut his body down instantly. Where a face should be, was nothing, only smooth skin, blemish-less and perfect. It felt like a fever dream, but the man was there, right in front of his eyes and he stared right at him with invisible eyes.  </p><p>“Sir, are you all right?” The man asked, bending down slightly to look closer at Tommy’s disgruntled features. “You look pale, would you like a glass of water?” <br/>
“What the fuck-” Tommy muttered, almost surprised at how deep his voice was. “-what the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck-” he continued chanting, his eyes scanning the man in front of him from head to toe. Aside from the pristinely smooth, almost mask-like face (That left a bad taste in his memory. He didn’t remember why. Things were starting to blur together), there was nothing wrong with the man’s body; he had all his limbs, a mop of black hair on top of his head, tied in a low ponytail, and his uniform fit his body perfectly as if it was tailored just for him.  <br/>
“Sir?” the man inquired again, and Tommy’s eyebrows furrowed. <br/>
“Who are you?” Tommy snapped, and with a deep sigh, the man took a step back, pulling a simple notebook from his breast pocket. He flipped through a couple of pages, glancing from the paper to Tommy and then back to the paper, before finally nodding and tapping the notebook with his thin finger. </p><p>“I’m the conductor of the Soul Train. It’s a pleasure to meet you, mister Tommy.” the conductor took a quick bow to greet him, and Tommy hummed, the smallest spark lighting where his overblown ego used to be. “I’d love to see your ticket, please.” <br/>
“Fuck you, I don’t have one!” the boy shouted, his defiant persona coming back to play in his moment of complete stress and confusion.  <br/>
“You do, sir.”  <br/>
“No, I don’t! What are you gonna do about it, huh?” </p><p>The conductor double-checked his notebook, before pointing at Tommy’s chest, drawing a circle in the air with his bony finger. </p><p>“Take off your shirt, sir,” he asked politely. Tommy’s face went completely pale. <br/>
“What the fuck! What the fuck? No?! I’m going to call the police, what the fuck!” he screamed, pressing his entire body deeper into the seat. The conductor groaned. <br/>
“With all due respect, sir, according to your papers, the ticket seems to be localized on your chest,” he said, and Tommy’s face flashed a whole spectrum of emotions within a couple of seconds, ranging from disbelief, through rage, to utter embarrassment.  <br/>
“Like...Like a necklace or something?” Tommy spoke up meekly, and the conductor would have rolled his eyes, had he had any.  <br/>
“No. Your chest, sir. Please just let me take a look.” </p><p>His face as red as the setting sun, Tommy gently took off his shirt, fondling with it for a moment. The conductor hummed in agreement and began scribbling on the notebook, moving his head up and down as he continued examining Tommy’s chest. The boy, curious, looked down, against his better judgment. </p><p>All blood left his face. </p><p>In the middle of his chest, blooming like poppies against horizon, was a thin, glowing gash, ruby in color, gently buzzing against the rest of his skin. He brought his hand up to touch it, and he winced when he realized that it was scalding hot against his fingertips. Not a tattoo, not a hole – it felt like an ember embedded in his body. Tommy recognized the spot it rested in. It was the exact same spot through which Dream ran his sword before he woke up here, before he- </p><p><em> -died. </em> </p><p>Any hopes of being still alive left him at that moment. He rubbed the wound gently, his face peaceful for the first time in ages; his thoughts were racing. No more L’Manburg. No more sword fighting practice. No more communal dinners, jokes, and races under moonlight. No more playfighting, making a mess, building cobblestone towers. No more warm hugs, and no more words of encouragement. No more familial warmth. </p><p>Something scratched at Tommy’s throat, and he put his shirt back on while the conductor finished up his little note.  </p><p>“We will be arriving at the station soon. Please remain in your compartment until you hear an announcement.” The man spoke calmly, before locking his non-existent eyes with Tommy’s. “You did good sir. I hope you can get some rest,” he said and tore out a page he was just writing on from his notebook. For a second, when it fluttered between the man’s fingers, Tommy could see his photo, smiling widely to the camera, still in the familiar L’Manburgian Revolutionary Forces uniform. A graph of a human body, with a red x over his chest; it looked like an autopsy report and Tommy looked away, instead focusing on trees that appeared and disappeared outside of the compartment window, turning into vague green blurs that came and went. </p><p>“Have a safe travel, sir.” </p><p>The door slid open, then closed. Tommy was alone again, surrounded by gentle sounds of the train. Once again, he had no idea where he was, no idea where the train was heading, and no idea how far away from L’Manburg he was. Speaking of L’Manburg, the memory of the country itself was starting to get blurry, and Tommy furrowed his brows, trying to recall the capital city layout. What just a moment ago was a crisp image, was now covered by a mist, obstructing his memory. He rushed to check what he remembered and what he did not – he remembered the founding of L’Manburg, as well the election, the rebuilding of L’Manburg, the festival, both of the festivals actually. Still, there were holes in his memory, gaping and mocking, and every second they grew and grew, taking more of his recollections as it progressed.  </p><p>He didn’t want to forget. His heart rate sped up, and he rubbed the front of his shirt, resting over the wound in his chest, anxiously. People, he needed to at least remember the people, he told himself, as the light that entered the compartment grew warmer, the sun setting beyond the horizon.  </p><p>Was the station the conductor mentioned afterlife?  </p><p>Did he deserve to have one? </p><p>His body felt light. He couldn’t remember his wrongs, so he trusted his gut, which was churning in stress. Tommy’s chest burned, and he felt sweat run down his back. The compartment was growing darker, and so was his heart. The train let out a loud whistle; Tommy jumped in his seat, startled. </p><p>“Fucking hell.” he cursed, letting out a shaky breath. “I fucked up by dying.” <br/>
“No, you didn’t.” a familiar voice answered him, and Tommy snapped his head up so fast that something popped in his neck. “I’d even risk saying that you did pretty well by taking your exit when you did.” </p><p>In the quietly opened door stood Wilbur, clothed in his full dress L’Manburg Uniform, every wrinkle finely pressed, the iconic hat in his hand, placed gently against his chest. His face was kind, angelic, and filled with pride; it was one Tommy could never forget, for it was the face that kept him anchored and sane for most of his life – his brother.  </p><p>“Hello, Tommy. Did you miss me?” he asked, and Tommy forgot how to breathe.  <br/>
“Wilbur?” he asked, breathless, and Will smiled in return. <br/>
“Who else?” </p><p>Something exploded in his chest and Tommy sprang to his feet again, this time not in a defensive position, but one that was vulnerable, shocked. Wilbur laughed at his brother’s behavior, gently motioning for him to sit back down. It took Tommy a moment to process the gesture, but he plopped back onto the seat, his eyes still wide, pupils dilated. Will looked around the compartment, nodding his head in approval, before he took a seat opposite to Tommy’s, setting the hat on the chair next to him.  </p><p>They stayed silent for a moment; Wilbur’s eyes locked on the rapidly-changing scenery behind the window. The sun has now fully set, and the previously warm, reddish hue that poured across the room like a fire-filled ocean was now cold, gentle in its brightness. The moon was truly the best ambiance for a reunion of two lost souls – once brothers, now dead men. Tommy’s gaze was not on the outside, however; he stared in awe at Wilbur’s profile, the same gentle, tired features he knew well enough to be able to recreate from memory. There was no doubt in his mind that the man sitting in front of him was Will. Still, if Will, who he watched die in his fathers’ arms was here, talking to him, breathing and smiling gently at the scenery outside of the train, that meant that he, Tommy, was truly and irreversibly dead.  </p><p>It was at that moment that the notion of being dead truly settled within Tommy’s mind. Dream won, took his life, and now all that remained of L’Manburg (<em> L’Manburg </em> <em> ? What a dumb name. Who even chose that? </em>) would be lost to him, along with his discs. Did Tubbo escape, he wondered, his fingers gripping the material of his pants until his knuckles turned white. Did anyone come to his rescue? Until the very last moment, he felt alone, and though he couldn’t quite remember his last breaths there was one thing he was sure about. </p><p>“Were you in pain?” Wilbur suddenly asked and Tommy sighed, avoiding looking him in the eye. <br/>
“No. I don’t remember. I was just afraid, I reckon.” he answered, doing his best to recall the point at which he died, struggling to do so through the white, milky fog that was taking over his mind.  <br/>
“Of dying?” <br/>
“Of losing.” </p><p>Wilbur turned to face his brother, a sad smile on his face. Their eyes finally met, and Tommy recognized the familiar light brown eye color, warm like an autumn afternoon.  </p><p>“You haven’t changed a bit since I left. Thank you.” Wilbur said, chuckling to himself. Tommy’s face contorted in confusion.  <br/>
“The fuck. What’s there to be thankful about. I can never understand you.” he muttered, looking away to hide his embarrassment.  <br/>
“Well, I missed you! It would be a shame if I got to meet you and you have become a completely different person, wouldn’t it?” the man laughed, this time loudly, with his whole chest. Tommy felt warm, not in the hot, scalding way he felt when he touched the crack in his chest – it spread throughout his entire body, from the tips of his ears to his toes, and Tommy loved the warmth, wishing for it to stay there forever. Wilbur’s voice always did that to him, ever since they were kids; it lulled him to sleep, snapped out of his anger, calmed him down when Techno- </p><p><em> He couldn’t remember Techno’s face </em>. No matter how hard he tried to recall it, from the soft, cotton candy hair to the tips of his pointy ears, his face was always a blur, a fuzz, static. The shape of his eyes, his nose, his lips, the scars he knew Techno had but could not quite place on his visage; Tommy entered a new stage of forgetting, and it filled him with fear.  </p><p>Within seconds, Wilbur was on his side, a gentle hand placed on his back, rubbing circles to calm him down. </p><p>“Breathe. This will pass.” He muttered, and Tommy exhaled a long, shaky breath he didn’t even notice he was holding. “Your memory?” <br/>
“Yeah. Yeah. Yeah.” Tommy gasped out, his mind still searching for the familiar face that taught him swordsmanship and gave him pointers on survival, that sheltered him and protected him, and one that he did an inexcusable wrong to, a wrong he couldn’t recall. It made him feel even more guilty, and he felt sick for a second. “Will, I forgot Techno. I don’t remember how he looks like.” the boy muttered, and Wilbur’s face fell, his hand leaving Tommy’s back. He instantly craved the warmth it brought; he shuddered.  <br/>
“Me neither,” Wilbur spoke, and Tommy’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “I think I forgot everyone but you at this point.”  </p><p>With unsteady hands, the man began unbuttoning his uniform, one silver button at a time. Soon his chest was exposed, and Tommy’s eyes locked on a long, glimmering red wound that spread across his chest. It was identical to the one on his body, only longer, seemingly more developed, torn at the edges. The boy wondered if Wilbur’s gash was as scalding hot as his.  </p><p>“My theory is that our memories escape through here. We forget more and more about the world we came from, so we can move on.” Will explained, his fingertips tracing along the torn edges of his wound. “I can remember people that are on this train clearly, like you, or Schlatt for some reason, though I haven’t met him here yet.”  <br/>
“Well, he is dead.” Tommy hummed and Wilbur shrugged his shoulders, buttoning his uniform back up.  <br/>
“That he is. I suppose that we are only allowed to remember those who already passed, then. That would explain why I can remember Sally!”  </p><p>Experience speaking through his nimble movements, Wilbur was soon done with his dressing, and he faced Tommy again, waiting for him to speak when he was ready and calm enough. The last thing he expected, however, was Tommy throwing himself over the seat, and pressing his entire body against his, wrapping his arms around him so tight that had he needed to breathe he would have choked. Wilbur was warm, Tommy thought, surprisingly so considering that he was a literal dead man walking. He felt like summer, the heat radiating from his chest gentle, unlike the scalding ember in his own. Lavender. The familiar, homely scent of lavender was there, and just for a moment all of Tommy’s muscles eased up, melting into Wilbur's touch, who has wrapped his hands around his form, pressing his face to his clavicle.  </p><p>“I don’t want to forget, Will. I don’t want to forget,” he muttered, ignoring the disgusting, stinging feeling in his throat. “Can’t I go without forgetting?”  <br/>
Wilbur sighed, before pressing a quick kiss to the crown of his brother’s head. He didn’t have to say it; Tommy already knew that there was no way back now. He strained his mind one last time, attempting to recall any details about people he was pretty sure he cared about – Techno was already gone, a pinkish blur remaining where warm memories of old books and orange tea used to be. Phil- he didn’t know who Phil was anymore; Techno’s friend maybe? The green blur next to pink seemed natural, like he was used to seeing them together. Phil had a faint scent of wood and summer evenings, and Tommy’s arms shook against his will. It felt comforting, the smell, and he sobbed, staining Wilbur’s uniform with tears.  </p><p>The bakery. The festival stage. The docks. The walls. His dirt home. Pogtopia ravine. Buttons. Gentle hands. Pleasant voices. </p><p>Gone. </p><p>Tommy screamed into Wilbur’s chest, his legs buckling under his weight. His eyes were hurting, his chest was on fire, his mind was blank. Wilbur was a ray of sun in a mist-covered field, and he grabbed onto it, even though it burned his hands, anchoring himself in the scent of lavender, and more and more disappeared from his mind, no matter how hard he tried to keep it within his heart. </p><p>Your Tubbo. Your Tommy. Snowchester. L’Manburg. Manburg. Tubbo. Tubbo. <br/>
Tubbo. </p><p>“Please. Oh God, please,” he muttered, his voice hoarse from screaming. “Anyone but him. Don’t make me forget. Please don’t make me forget.” </p><p>All was left was the scent of lilies and warm cocoa and Tommy wailed again, his fingers digging into Wilbur’s back, nearly drawing blood. The man holding him whispered quiet words of comfort, running his hand back and forth through his brother’s wild blonde hair. He himself had to go through that alone, and now that he was there, Tommy at least had someone to hold onto.  </p><p>Tommy cried until his throat felt raw and until his head spun from exhaustion until his tears ran out and until his head felt completely blank. Only when Tommy’s grip on his body eased did Wilbur pull away, gently pressing his forehead against Tommy’s to remain close to his brother, who, still sniffling, was now staring into space with empty eyes, defeated. <br/>
“Hey, big man.” He whispered, focusing the boy’s attention on his face. “Got it all out?” <br/>
All Tommy could force out of his throat was a pathetic croak, and Will took it as a ‘yes’.  </p><p>Silence returned to the room, broken only by Tommy’s sniffles and the roar of the wheels of the train, carrying the mass of steel towards its final destination. The moon was now setting; Tommy felt like time was passing much quicker in that small space than it would in the real world. Then again, he was dead, so anything could be possible. For a moment he wondered how much time has passed on the other side of existence, but it quickly faded from his mind alongside his other thoughts, and with one last wipe of his eyes, he asked Wilbur the ever-important question. </p><p>“What are you doing here, Will?” he spoke, battling the breaks in his voice. Will closed his eyes and exhaled in amusement at the inquiry, his face warm.  <br/>
“Your timing is almost as good as your building skills.” <br/>
“Shut the fuck up.” Tommy barked, but the smallest of smiles ghosted his lips just for a moment, and Will smiled back, satisfied with his work. </p><p>“Well-” the older man mused, separating himself from his brother, leaning on the window. His silhouette looked almost ethereal against the quickly fading moonlight, and Tommy just stared at him for a while, taking in his familiar features, ones he missed so much. “I suppose you can say that I’m here to keep you company. Been waiting for you for a while, actually, you lived so much longer than I expected you to.” Wilbur laughed, his face lighting up the room. Tommy didn’t know if he should be touched or offended. His eyes still stung, but he rolled them, just for a good measure.  <br/>
“Just admit you were scared to move on without your big man.” Tommy teased, and Will made a face that could not be described with words. “You need a bodyguard to fistfight death. I knew it.”  </p><p>“Tommy, you missed out on fighting death, I think he moved on to other compartments.” he pointed towards the door with his chin, and after a short moment of cogs creaking in his brain, he jumped in realization. <br/>
“You mean the flat-faced fuck was the grim reaper? Fuck!” <br/>
“Yeah! One in a lifetime chance, gone!” </p><p>They both laughed, the room becoming brighter just for a moment, and when it died down there was summer between them, warm against their skin. Wilbur sighed, looking away for the first time since he entered the compartment. <br/>
“Everyone is afraid sometimes.” He spoke reluctantly, his hands tightening onto his forearms as he crossed his arms on his chest. “I reckon I was afraid of being alone. However bad that sounds, I’m glad you’re here,” he added, and Tommy flushed, embarrassed.  <br/>
“Man, stop being sappy.”  <br/>
“Sorry, sorry.”  </p><p>Tommy wanted to say so much, but at the same time, he did not know what to say. Wilbur was the only this on his mind – in his mind, considering his memory was just wiped, once vivid scenes of his past now blurry colors and shapes. Still, the silence was pleasant; Tommy missed Wilbur’s presence so much, the comfort that being near him brought. He remembered everything about him, from the first memory he made with him in their family home, to the moment he lowered his body into the grave with his own hands, and now he was right there, standing bathed in the fading moonlight, smiling as if he was never killed, a martyr for the future of... something. Tommy couldn’t remember. Maybe that was for the better.  </p><p>“Tommy,” Wilbur spoke up, his eyes locked on the quickly changing scenery outside of the train. Tommy’s heart skipped a beat, the ember in his chest burning just a bit harsher. If this was what he was thinking it was, then...  </p><p><em> “Are you ready to go?” </em> </p><p>Wilbur’s voice was so soft that it almost got lost in the ambiance of the train, but in Tommy’s ears, it sounded like a gunshot. It was time, he thought as he clenched and unclenched his fists again, feeling his nails dig into his palms, proving to him that he existed, that he was there at that point in time. Where would he go after this? Heaven? Hell? He was sure that at some point in time he had a guess where he would go, but he just couldn’t remember his train of thought, and he looked to Wilbur in distress, at which his older brother just smiled gently, his eyes misty. Was he ready to go? Was this truly it? </p><p>Once again, a lump formed in his throat, and he took a shaky breath to steady himself.   </p><p>“Yeah,” he said, and Wilbur took a step closer, gently bringing Tommy in for what would most likely be their last embrace. There were no tears this time, just solace that the closure brought.  <br/>
“Are you sure?” Wilbur asked, and Tommy smiled gently, his eyes half-lidded when he felt Will’s voice rumble in his chest.  <br/>
“I don’t think I have a choice here, do I?” he questioned, and Wilbur frowned.  <br/>
“No, we can wait until you’re ready, we literally have all the time in the world.” <br/>
“Let’s go, Wilbur. No use stalling.” </p><p>This time it was Will whose arms tightened around Tommy. A full smile appeared on Tommy’s face. This was fine. He was with his brother, he closed the book, he left his memories behind.  </p><p>There was a tinge of warmth in his spine, and he felt lighter, as if his body was filled with air. Wilbur gasped, and Tommy decided not to look this time. His brother shook gently, but Tommy knew he was experiencing the same feeling; they were going home, together, for the last time.  </p><p>“You’re disappearing,” Wilbur muttered. “Holy shit you’re disappearing.”  <br/>
Tommy hummed in response, the pleasant tingling now spreading to his hands and feet. Through the corner of his eye, he could see golden particles surrounding them, dancing in the air like autumn leaves. It was pretty. Wilbur pressed his face into the crown of Tommy’s hair. He was supposed to be the one guiding him, and now he was the one scared?  </p><p>The sun peeked over the horizon as Tommy sighed, white overtaking his vision. There was only one thing that he had to get off his chest, one that he never got to say during his life, and he remembered that well because of its connection to Will. He took in the scent of lavender, old books, and childhood memories, etching them in his brain the best that he could. His ears were ringing, it was now or never. Before his ego could process what he was about to say, his mouth formed the words, and his heart sighed in relief. </p><p>“I love you, Wilby,” he whispered, and Wilbur let out a ragged breath. <br/>
“Don’t say that, I will cry.” he joked, but his voice was shaking, and he sounded like another whisp of wind, dancing in the rising sun. Tommy laughed. <br/>
“Then cry!” <br/>
“...okay.” </p><p>Warm, silent tears stained the top of Tommy’s head, and he felt at peace, held by his brother.  </p><p>He had a good run, he thought, as his body dissipated into the morning air, leaving only golden dust behind.  </p><p>He was home.  </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey girl, I cried while writing fanfiction. I blame the choral music I blasted in the background.<br/>So I saw the DSMP season 2 finale and thought huh how do I make it angstier? And then this happened.<br/>I miss L'Manbur. Come back, man.<br/>I have nothing else to say in my defense. I'm touch starved.</p><p>As always, find me @SummoningFailed on twitter, bring your own cutlery, I'm having a bbq.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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